A Happier Return
by some red emotions
Summary: Based on the mini episode Many Happy Returns. It's John's birthday and his boyfriend doesn't go to his birthday dinner. John's friends speak their minds about Sherlock, but they don't get to see what John walks into when he arrives at Baker Street after the dinner.


"So, where's your famous boyfriend?" Harry asked inconveniently and by the slur of her enunciation, her cranberry juice was most certainly spiced.

"He had a thing" was the only answer John provided her with. Not because he didn't want to say what he's boyfriend was up to, but because it was honestly what Sherlock had told him.

"What?" His sister feigned her outrage. "But that's the lamest excuse I've ever heard! Was that what he said to you?" Harry asked, but John kept his mouth shut because he knew she didn't actually want an answer. Harry burst out laughing. "Oh poor Johnny, he's dumbly smitten and the twat couldn't care less about him."

"Harry, he is busy. He couldn't come. Now drop it, please." John gave her a stern look which turned to disapproving when she took a sip of whatever it was in the glass she was holding.

"But it is quite odd, isn't it?" Sarah cut in and John could swear there was bitterness somewhere in her words."I mean, it's your birthday and he isn't here. I highly doubt this 'thing' is more important than your birthday dinner."

"I'm sure it is." John practically growled.

"Don't kid yourself, John." Harry chuckled. "He probably doesn't even remember it's your birthday."

"He does." He said curtly. Looking around, John caught sight of Mrs. Hudson fidgeting in her seat and looking uncomfortable; the seat beside hers was still empty. _Where the hell is Lestrade?, _he wondered.

"If I forgot my wife's birthday she would probably divorce me." Mike Stamford said with a chuckle. John had something to say about that, but he knew better than to speak his mind.

He desperately missed Sherlock all of the sudden.

"Thank you all for worrying about me." John said sarcastically and stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom now and when I get back you better have changed subjects or I'm leaving."

John came back fifteen minutes later and there was something in the air, but no one else said anything about his and Sherlock's relationship anymore. Lestrade had finally arrived and explained his tardiness by playing a video on his laptop. It was a message from Sherlock apologizing for missing the dinner and wishing him "many happy returns" and telling him not to worry because Sherlock "will be with you again very soon", then he smiled and winked. John couldn't help but blush and wish for the dinner to be over already.

Stepping inside their flat later that night offered John the biggest surprise of his life. Mind you, living with Sherlock Holmes provided him with an endless string of surprises, but this one was like none other. The flat was completely tidied up, there were no organs nor weird substances lying around, Sherlock's skull was put away and the living room didn't look like headquarters. In fact, his armchair was now side by side with Sherlock's instead of being across from it and their high coffee table was centrally positioned in front of both their armchairs. The lights were low and there were candles all over the room, on the table by the couch were piled five perfectly wrapped birthday gifts and the whole flat smelled of something sweet.

"Sherlock?" John called out looking around, completely amazed.

"Good evening, John." Sherlock's voice came from the kitchen's door (John was still stupidly standing by the threshold).

John stepped into the room and there he was, Sherlock Holmes dressed in a perfectly cut suit that made his waist look tiny and his legs endless. "I made desert!" he announced proudly.

"You what?" John choked, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Sherlock, you cooked?"

"I _baked._" Sherlock turned around quickly and walked into the kitchen once again. "Well, the chocolate covered strawberries I bought at the deli, but I baked raspberry cheesecake." He told John while opening a bottle of champagne. The cork's pop echoed over John's silence, which made Sherlock worry for a second. "I know the cliche thing to do would be cooking dinner, but that would make no sense because you went out to dinner with your friends, so the next logical choice would be dessert and thankfully you haven't had any which means the restaurant didn't have many (if any) options or that you wanted to come home early. My bets are on the latter."

"Once again, you're right." John smiled. "Lestrade showed me that video message from you. I wanted to come home the minute it was over and I really would have if I had the slightest idea that you were planing this."

"That would have ruined my plans, John." Sherlock filled two cups with champagne and handed one to John. "A toast?"

"To what are we toasting?" He took a step closer and stood in front of Sherlock.

"To you, of course." Sherlock smiled and their cups clinked together. "Happy birthday, John."

"Thank you." He said breathlessly and sipped his champagne.

"Good?" Sherlock asked after taking a sip himself.

"Really good." John said, but he didn't take his eyes off of Sherlock.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Sherlock said and moved away. John almost couldn't hold back a growl of frustration; they were clearly having a moment, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice. It happened sometimes. John would flirt with him, but Sherlock didn't catch up. Other times they were being sentimental and the moment just screamed for a kiss, but Sherlock would simply walk away. Sometimes the sexual tension would be popping like fucking firecrackers around them, but it was no use. John had to come up and bluntly ask Sherlock to do something about it (and damn, he always did).

"So, we can eat your birthday dessert here in the kitchen or we can sit in our armchairs next to the fireplace, I'm sure you've noticed I moved them next to each other. We also could sit in the couch and then open your presents. Three of them are from me, one is from Molly and the other one from Mycroft. It's your choice what we do." Sherlock said in an incredible gentle manner.

"Can we go to your bedroom?" John asked.

"The bedroom?" Sherlock took a moment to consider. "Okay, why don't you go ahead and change into something more comfortable?! I'll go downstairs and grab a tray from Mrs. Hudson so we can take all this to the bedroom."

"That sounds great. I'll go then, don't take too long!" He said already moving.

"John, wait!" Sherlock made his way into John's personal space in quick steps, held John's face between his hands and kissed him. John automatically held Sherlock's hip and welcomed the soft kiss. "You can go now." Sherlock said after one more firm press of lips.

John walked to Sherlock's bathroom as if he was walking on the clouds. He opened the last drawer of Sherlock's dresser (which contained some pieces of clothes that belonged to John) and changed quickly.

Sherlock walked in shortly after, holding a wooden tray with all the sweets he had bought and baked. At first they sat on the bed opposite each other and Sherlock took hold of the chocolate covered strawberries so he could feed John. Then, they suddenly were sitting side by side and John was holding a plate with a piece of raspberry cheesecake that was too big for just the two of them and they took turns eating and feeding each other.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked after John's first bite of the cheesecake he baked.

"Sherlock, this is really good! Who would have thought that you have a way with baked goods?!" John said honestly, stuffing his mouth while Sherlock puffed out his chest proudly.

At last, each held a small containers – which were shaped as a heart – full of vanilla pudding. Sherlock was sitting with his back against the bed's headboard and John had his back against Sherlock's chest, comfortably sitting between his legs. They ate silently for a while, John sighing contently when Sherlock kissed his shoulders and neck between bites.

"They're wrong, you know." John said after he finished, turning around in Sherlock's embrace. By 'they', John didn't only mean his stupid friends, he meant every single person who ever doubted or judged Sherlock. He meant all those douche-bags who called him a freak or a prick.

"About what?" Sherlock asked in a low voice, as if John was telling him a secret.

"Everything." And _specially _them and their relationship. John was told Sherlock didn't care about him, that he didn't have heart, but John had never felt so loved.

"Most people are." Sherlock told him and John fell a little more in love with him.


End file.
